


Two Gods Walk Into A Bar

by Birdbitch



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe they don't meet at the bar, but that's not to say that they're not both there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Gods Walk Into A Bar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mix Stitch (Synph)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/gifts).



Dionysus and Eros meet at a bar.

Okay, they don’t really “meet” there given the fact that they already know each other, and they weren’t necessarily planning on seeing each other, but they’re both there and they both have good enough reason for their presence. Eros wears a good enough disguise, still the way he usually presents without the wings that would give him away, and Dionysus appreciates it. More than, really, but that’s beside the point when he slides up to the bar and orders a rum and coke and the hem of his shirt (too tight, but Dionysus doesn’t have a problem with that in the least) rides up and reveals a sliver of skin. Alright. There’s a possible hickey on the side of Eros’s neck and Dionysus feels a sharp spike of jealousy until he remembers himself. No need to get jealous. He scratches his beard and wonders for a second if maybe he should have gone clean-shaven.

“You’ve been staring for about ten minutes,” Eros says, finally choosing a seat at Dionysus’s booth. His maenads are all dancing, now, on a small, red-tiled floor right next to a short stage. They like garage bands, and he can’t blame them. “You didn’t come here alone, did you?”

He shrugs. “They’re having a good time.”

“Not as much cannibalism this time.”

“Yet.” There’s always going to be a little something like it, he thinks, because he can’t help it. Sometimes he gets the urges and maybe it’s not like it used to be, back when he was young and wild, but it’s there and it tugs at something in his gut that nothing, not even raw meat, can really satisfy. “Their frenzies are different. I don’t want them dead.”

Eros looks past Dionysus, almost like he’s seeing through the booth walls and towards that tiny dancefloor with the beautiful women throwing their hands up and laughing and stomping their feet. “They’re good girls,” he says finally, returning his stare to Dionysus, who touches his beard again. “Maybe I’m out of place tonight.”

Dionysus considers it. “Desire and a good time always seem to go hand-in-hand to me,” he says. “Throw them the band and you and I can get out of here.”

Eros laughs, head thrown back with curls bouncing and sharp teeth revealing themselves as not entirely human. “Awfully bold, Dionysus!”

He smiles at him crookedly and downs his (third? fourth?) drink. “You usually like it.”

“I’m not saying I don’t like it now.” He looks serious for a moment, and looks past Dionysus again. “You think I should?”

The truth is, Dionysus thinks he should just fuck Eros right now regardless of what happens to his girls because it’s been too long. It’s always too long. That’s the thing with whatever it is they’ve got going on; he will never be able to get enough and he will never feel like it’s been an appropriate amount of time between the previous and next encounter they might have. “Do it,” he says. “They’ll thank you for it if they don’t tear them apart.” Eros smiles and he’s changed a little with the times, because it’s a finger gun that he aims, and when he shoots he looks like a kid playing at firing at enemies. It’s terribly endearing and Dionysus reaches across the table to kiss him the second it’s done.

“A little public, don’t you think?” Eros asks, and there’s as much a warning tone in his voice as a dare to keep at it. He’d probably, at some point, appreciate it in front of everyone, but now’s not that time. When Dionysus gets feeling like this (unable or maybe unwilling to prevent his horns from sprouting or his hands from roaming) he doesn’t really want anybody else to see Eros.

That’s for him alone, he figures.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and his voice sounds like it belongs to centuries ago, deep and husky and demanding. He sees a shudder climb up Eros’s spine and it’s enough to make him grab his hand and lead him out of the bar, past all of the patrons and up the stairs towards the street-side entrance. When he gets the chance, he lets his fingers rest on that bit of skin that revealed itself at the beginning of the night and it’s so warm that he thinks he could melt. Under the streetlights, Eros stops him and pulls him into a kiss, and he could melt into that, too, could sink into Eros and be consumed by him like that.

Eros slides his hand over Dionysus’s neck and keeps it there like a tether. “Where are we going?” he asks, and Dionysus looks around.

“I have a human apartment,” he says, and it’s satisfactory enough that Eros whisks them both there sooner than Dionysus could have driven. His wings are out now, his eyes big and glassy like they’ve been blown from something molten, and he’s on Dionysus, ready to tear him apart.

It’s better than it has been in a while.

Dionysus rocks his hips up, greedy for something, anything, and Eros drifts down to kiss the damp front of his trousers. “Holy shit,” he breathes out, and he’s torn between staring up at the ceiling and down where Eros is undoing his pants and taking him out so he can wrap his mouth around his dick. “Fuck. Fuck!”

Eros laughs and it feels strange, and Dionysus reaches a hand down to start carding through his hair. “You never used to talk like that,” he says, pulling off for a second, and Dionysus feels like he would die in that moment if he were a mortal. He would. There’s no question.

“Colloquial language. Can’t help it.” It’s easier, besides, he thinks, speaking like this than it ever was trying to sound right. For the most part, he fits in here. He likes it.

He hums and Dionysus slams his head back. He can’t help it, and it’s been too long, and he knows, at some point, there was a time where he had a sense of endurance, of being able to last, but he’s coming now, all over Eros’s beautiful face and into his even better mouth and he’d apologize if Eros weren’t coming up to kiss him. It’s messy and there’s nothing he loves if not messy. Besides, he’s still a little hard. He can get it up again no problem, which is good because Eros is grinding down against him, insatiable and hungry like maybe it’s been too long for him, too.


End file.
